


Self-Defence

by Lynds



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Awkward Erik Lehnsherr, BAMF Charles Xavier, Cain Marko Being an Asshole, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Has a Crush, Erik is a Sweetheart, Homophobic Language, I consider this fluffy, M/M, Martial Arts, Pre-Slash, Protective Erik, Social Anxiety, although there are bones breaking, but it's REALLY relevant here, he usually is in my fics, instant karma though, please note the tags though, really mean words used, wheelchair martial arts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: Walking home one night, Erik wades into a fight, furious that three drunk assholes would attack the cute guy in a wheelchair.Turns out that Charles really doesn't need help.(Not that he doesn't appreciate it... Erik isn't the only one who's noticed a cute guy around)
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 171





	Self-Defence

**Author's Note:**

> Once again my karate lessons make their way into my fic! I've been doing karate since I was about 10 and absolutely love it. However my knees and back and various other body parts are fucked because of hypermobility, accidents and other issues, and I have quite a few conversations with my instructors about how martial arts can be modified to better suit people with mobility issues, either temporary or permanent. This story just went from there.
> 
> (One day I'll have to write about the stuff I worked on with a bunch of eskrima guys about how to defend yourself against someone with a knife while also holding a baby... it was very interesting!)
> 
> ((I was paranoid, OK!? My first baby had just been born and I have issues))

It was late, the summer sun setting at last, leaving the sky streaked with orange while the streets darkened. Erik shifted his bag higher on his shoulder and stifled a yawn. He couldn’t be tired, not yet, he still had work to do on his assignment when he got home.

There was a guy a bit ahead of him, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and pushing the wheel rims of his chair with a practiced, casual speed. Even so, Erik realised he was starting to catch up with him. Ugh. He hated the awkwardness of walking in the same direction as someone, moving at a similar enough speed that they’d be practically side by side for a few minutes. What does one even do in that situation? Do you greet the person? Do you steadfastly pretend not to notice them? 

Even worse, he realised, as he approached, that he recognised the guy. Charles, the posh, blue-eyed, floppy-haired rich kid who came into Erik’s deli every Thursday night for a sandwich. He was usually drenched in sweat, which Erik had wondered about before. He certainly didn’t seem unfit, or like he’d have far to travel before his chauffeur came to pick him up. Although, said the little voice that sounded like his mother, the city was shockingly inaccessible. It was possible he just had a rough journey to and from the office.

Erik was getting too close for his social awkwardness to cope. He wondered if he should call out, like he would with a woman. _Sorry, I’m not following you, I’m turning left at the top of the street._ Would that be polite? Or emasculating? He probably wouldn’t bother doing so with an abled man his own age, would he? Erik chewed his lip, imagining various scenarios. Was it ableist or just realistic that he thought this particular man might feel threatened by someone following him late at night? 

He was almost relieved when he noticed his shoelace flopping around. Usually he wouldn’t bother, just leave it loose, but here it was a gift. He paused by a bench and took his time tying it, giving Charles a chance to get further away. If Charles really was worried about him, he might glance around and be reassured by Erik messing with his laces, ignoring Charles entirely.

Instead, that’s when the shit hit the fan.

Erik didn’t think much of the voices when he first heard them, the deep sniggering, the over-confidence, the swagger of a group of drunk men. And then, “Excuse me.”

Charles’ voice. Erik’s head snapped up to see three men standing in front of Charles, blocking the path through the park. _Shit._ Heart beating quickly, Erik started to walk towards them. He didn’t want to run. They hadn’t _done_ anything yet, after all, but why had he let Charles get so far ahead?

“Look at this little retard,” said the man in the middle, a hulking jock. His two friends sniggered, tipped their beer bottles up and down. “Meet my step-brother, Charlie. How ya doing, Charlie? How’s the legs?”

“Cain, as much as I enjoy our little chats, you’ll have to move if you don’t want me to run over your toes.”

Erik gritted his teeth. Why was that bloody idiot making things worse for himself? Even as he thought it, he knew there was no point in playing nice with guys like this.

Even so, he still felt physically sick when Cain (Charles’ _step-brother_ for God’s sake) leaned forward and grabbed Charles’ shirt, tilting his chair back on the big wheels. 

Mind blanking, Erik ran for them. One of the lackeys noticed him first and Erik met him with a haymaker, knuckles connecting with his temple, pain jarring all down his wrist and elbow. The man went down. Erik turned to help Charles.

Charles smiled. He didn’t seem to have taken his eyes off Cain, his chin tilted up arrogantly. Cain, however, turned as his friend fell. Before anyone could react further, Charles moved. He placed one hand over the top of Cain’s where it was still gripping his shirt, then struck up on Cain’s elbow, hard and sharp. There was a horrible cracking noise, Cain screamed, and Charles’ front wheels landed back on the ground. 

Erik was frozen, his mouth hanging open. Cain clutched at his elbow, still yelling, his other friend darting forward to help him. Cain pushed him off. “You little _fucker,”_ he screamed at Charles. “You fucking faggot piece of shit, I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

He kicked at Charles’ head, and Erik couldn’t help but shout Charles’ name, horrified. He’d frozen and he was going to watch this kid get his head smashed because he’d frozen and--

Charles ducked to the side, leaned forward to hold his body weight over his centre, grabbed Cain’s ankle and knee, and _twisted._ Cain fell, and lay on the ground, howling. 

Cain’s friend now leaped forward, his beer bottle held high - and Charles _fucking stopped that too._ He tucked the man’s hand under his arm, jerked his wheelchair into the man’s waist so he fell on top of Charles, then gripped him around the throat.

“Are you finished?” he snarled, and the hairs stood up on the back of Erik’s neck. “Are you fucking finished, you useless stains on humanity? Or does a _retard faggot_ need to beat the crap out of you some more? Huh?”

“Let him go, man.” The guy Erik had punched was staggering to his feet, helping Cain up. “We don’t want any trouble, let him go, he’s choking.”

Charles bared his teeth for just an instant, and a part of Erik wondered if he should be afraid. Then he shoved the man away from him. The bottle fell and smashed, and the noise seemed to startle the three bastards into action. They stumbled away, Cain still bent over his arm.

Erik watched them leave until Charles started laughing. Erik turned to him and raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry, my friend, I just…” Charles shook his head and giggled.

“Is this delayed hysteria?” Erik asked.

Charles shook his head and wiped tears from his eyes. “I have no idea,” he said. 

“That was amazing,” Erik blurted. Charles tilted his head. “I mean, fuck, I only punched one guy and my hand _hurts._ How did you do all that?”

Charles came towards him and held his hand out. “Let’s see. I don’t think you’re making a fist properly.” He took Erik’s hand and straightened the fingers one by one, rubbing over the swollen knuckles and pouting in sympathy as Erik hissed in pain. “Next time, the heel of your hand might be a better option. Or your elbow.”

“That would’ve been useful to know back in school,” Erik said. “Are you some martial artist or something?”

Charles smiled, and Erik’s heart suddenly decided to skip a beat. He was _stunning._ He’d always been pretty, but that _smile!_ “I wouldn’t call myself a martial artist, that sounds like I’m an instructor! But I have been going to lessons.” He hesitated. “The dojo across the road from your deli, actually. Erik, isn’t it?”

“You know my name?”

Charles smiled and glanced down at his hands, twisting together in his lap. “Well… yes. But you know my name too, don’t you?”

Erik shrugged and fiddled with his bag. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You should come over one day - to the dojo, I mean. Sensei Logan’s grumpy but he’s an incredible teacher. When I started with him… wow, I was a mess. I wasn’t dealing with the whole…” He gestured to his legs and chair. “All _this_ very well.” Logan made me feel like I was still worth something, even when people look through me. Even when people assume I can’t possibly take care of myself. I wish I’d found him before, honestly.”

“Maybe I will,” said Erik, venturing a small smile. “Thursdays, isn’t it?”

Charles favoured him with another beaming smile, and Erik resisted the urge to press his hand to his chest, calm those damn butterflies down. “That’s right,” Charles said. “I do hope you’ll come.”

Erik took a deep breath and dived. “I don’t suppose you’d like to have coffee some time, too?”

The smile Charles gave was softer, smaller, but no less beautiful. “I’d love to.”


End file.
